Death Becomes Him
by Bob Obo
Summary: Xander has a slight attack of mortality...
1. Very Close Encounters

Rain. It poured unimpeded from the heavens, pounding with untempered exuberance on the earth it struck, turning the land to a muddy quagmire, turning the streets into a river that temporarily washed away the ever spreading filth that always accompanied human existence.

Rain. It pattered down, cascading down the wall he lay slumped against, washing over him and washing away his blood to mingle with the rest of the scum to be cleansed by the storm.

He lay slumped against the damp stone wall of the shrouded alleyway. He held a hand clamped tightly to his side, trying unsuccessfully to prevent his life from leaking gradually but determinedly from the hole in his side to mingle with the tirade.

_A perfectly miserable night to die._

For an hour that felt like a small eternity, he'd been convinced he wasn't going to die. He'd survived worse than this. He'd beaten back apocalypses for craps sake! Admittedly he was usually so terrified he couldn't remember anything afterwards – but he was sure he'd at least participated. Being impaled by a random demon when he'd just been looking for somewhere to eat seemed like too much of an anticlimax to accept.

Accepting it he was though. After an hour of agonized crawling, he'd concluded that no considerate savior was likely to choose this dark alleyway in the the foreseeable future. He seemed to be crawling exponentially slower, on current evidence it would be a tie between him reaching the end and the aged sun reaching its end.

He pulled himself up against the wall, made himself as comfortable as he could under the circumstances – and waited patiently to die.

Laying down and dying seemed like a plan even he could achieve. Trust him to mess it up.

Xander blinked water from his eye and looked down again at the sizable hole in his side in bewilderment. He knew he should have died hours ago.

He considered. He was willing to acknowledge that the way his life went, it was possible that he _could_ have died and risen as a vampire without noticing.

On the other hand, he'd observed a tendency not to spontaneously combust, nor to want to eat his friends, which tended to cast doubts on that theory. Also lacking inhuman strength, which he would have appreciated when the deceptively small demon had slammed him against the wall and then impaled him.

It wasn't fair, he'd only trod on one of its feet! How was he to know they were its reproductive organs?

He shuffled, trying to make himself comfortable. He'd never realised dieing would be so difficult.

I HAVEN'T GOT ALL DAY YOU KNOW.

Xander glanced at his companion, slouched fleshlessly next to him.

"Sorry, doing my best here." he said.

EVERYONE ELSE MANAGES WELL ENOUGH. I THINK YOU'RE JUST BEING DIFFICULT.

"Sorry." Xander shrugged, then grimaced in pain. "I don't mean to pry..."

DON'T THEN. His companion intoned.

"You're Death, right?" he said.

The seven foot cowled skeleton regarded him. YES.

"Erm..."

YES?

"Why aren't I dead yet?"

YOU ARE. Death replied ruefully, YOUR SPIRIT REFUSES TO LEAVE YOUR BODY. THIS IS MOST CHILDISH.

"Sorry."

I CAN WAIT. Death said tonelessly.

Xander lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

YOU HAVE ANOTHER QUESTION? Death prompted.

"How's your chess?" Xander tried hopefully.

BUGGER OFF.

"Ok. Erm, is Terry Pratchett going to sue me?"

NO. I'M JUST A FIGMENT OF YOUR IMAGINATION.

"Oh, good. So I'm not dead?"

NO.

"No, I'm dead, or no I'm not dead?" Xander said hopefully.

THE FIRST ONE. Death replied without pause.

"Ah. Shit." Xander pondered for a second, then gave up. "So, what am I?"

YOU'RE A ZOMBIE.

"I am? How do you know that?"

I AM DEATH. WORK IT OUT.

"I thought you said you're a figment of my imagination?"

YES.

"So, what do I do now?"

TRADITIONALLY, YOU WANDER THE EARTH FOR ALL ETERNITY, HOPELESSLY ALONE AND MISERABLE, MINDLESSLY DRIVEN ONLY BY YOUR INSATIABLE LUST FOR HUMAN FLESH.

"Ok then. What if I want a beer instead?" Xander clambered to his feet, ignoring his wound now he realised its redundancy.

THAT'S UP TO YOU. Deaths leaden tone betrayed a certain uncertainty.

"Like to join me for one?" Xander queried.

YEAH, OK.


	2. No Rest

Xander downed the dregs of his beer moodily.

One of the serious constraints of being a zombie he was learning, was the inability to get drunk. Death told him it was to do with his inability to metabolite alcohol. Although he was walking and talking, he was basically a corpse. The dead were evidently evil simply because they can't get drunk.

As Death was deeply into his ninth drink, his skull bobbing woozily on his spine, Xander was less than convinced by that explanation.

Xander climbed unsteadily to his feet, more out of stubbornness than any sense of intoxication. He considered urinating, but dismissed the idea until he had a better grasp on his anatomy.

He lurched out of the bar into the cool, crisp night air. Ignoring past failures he tried to think.

_I'm a Xombie._ He thought. _What do I do?_

He dismissed most ideas out of hand. Going and living in a mates shed and playing playstation games seemed about the best he could come up with. Unfortunately none of his friends owned any decent games. He had a briefly herrifying (between terrifying and horrifying) image of living with Andrew, then blanked the idea out with comforting visions of eating his brain. That had nothing to do with being a zombie, he was sure.

He wandered aimlessly down the street, lost in bleak thoughts. _What am I going to do?_

_I'm a zombie. An evil, undead monster._ He reasoned. _Unless I have sex with her, Buffy will never accept me._

He pushed that though aside, noticing disgustedly that certain previously natural reactions from his body weren't happening. _Great. I'm an impotent zombie too._

_I can't ask Buffy for help. Not after last month with the demon crabs._ He dismissed the idea. _So who else? What do I do?_

He stopped, amazed the idea had taken so long to be gain attention.

_Willow! _Since he was still in diapers (and she'd never let on to anyone quite how long that was), she'd been his guardian angel. She was uber-witch. If anyone could help him, it was her!

He felt his relief waver. She was in Rome - visiting Buffy, half way across the planet. His skin was already turning a distinctly unhealthy greenish tint and people were avoiding him more than usual. How could he reach her?

He meandered along the road, ignoring the confused and fearful looks he got from pedestrians and the irate screams of motorists as his erratic shambling gait caused them to swerve blindly across the road. It just seemed the natural way for him to travel.

Without preamble he felt a hand grasp him and pull him into another dingy alley, away from the generic traffic of city life.

He twisted to glimpse his assailant and succeeded only in glimpsing a fist as it connected with his jaw.

He somersaulted backwards, landing on his head. He rolled in an ungainly fashion, coming to face his assailant. "What?" he spluttered indignantly.

"_Time to die foul fiend!_ Your days of preying on the innocent are numbered foul field!"

"Field?"

"Sorry, that was a typo."

Xander clambered to his feet laboriously. He peered into the gloom, trying to make out his assailant. "Ok, but if you want me to have days of preying, you're going to have to wait a while. I'm not that religious."

A fist shot out of the shadows and connected with his chin with a crack.

"Don't mock me - _fiend_." the voice warned petulantly.

Xnader backpedaled, rubbing his chin. "Ok, hold on there voice! I'm not mocking you. There is no mocking going on here - unless it's of my fighting prowess. Look, I'm one of the good guys! The slayers can vouch for me. I -"

This time, mostly by blind luck, he was able to avoid the kick that was aimed at him. He spun and faced his assailant as momentum carried her out of the shadows.

He stared. He gawked. He was willing to go so far as say he even goggled. He gaped incredulously at the petite blonde who crouched in a fighting stance before him.

She moved cautiously towards him, her fists raised readily. "You can't escape me, foul – _Xander_?"

Xander tried to collect his wits like a man trying to collect sand with a sieve.

"_Harmony_?"

"Oh my god! It's so good to see you!"

The last thing Xander was prepared for was Harmony suddenly to spring towards him, wrapping herself around him in a very enthusiastic hug. For the first time in the night, he felt grateful certain parts weren't responding.

"Uh, hi Harm." he managed to say.

Harmony pulled back from him suddenly, her face looking up at his in bewilderment. It took him a moment to notice the difference.

"Wait a second. You're evil!" she tried to pull away from him, failing as she still had her arms wrapped around him. "Did you think you could trap me that easily? Lure me in with your masculine wiles then stake me unaware?" she pulled away with a triumphant tug, much to Xanders relief. "No way, buster! I'm Harmony, I help the hopeless! I defend the worthless! I save poor people from demons, even when they smell funny!"

In his defense, Xander really did try not to laugh.

"So, Harmony," he considered the offended pout she wore, "You've taken over from Angel then?"

"Yeah, since him and Spike went sailing in the Carribean, I though - there's got to be a opening for me as a good vampire. A snitch or one of those things. Plus they won't pay you benefits when you're dead."

"A niche? Just to check, but you still don't have a soul?" Xander had never really believed she had one when she was alive anyway.

"Whats that got to do with anything?"" Harmony demanded irritably.

"Oh, nothing. Its just usually a... sort of a prerequisite of being a hero?"

To his astonishment, Harmony seemed to understand. "Yeah I know. Like this one time, I tried to get a job in a pet shop," her brow wrinkled with consideration, "and they told me I needed qualifications and experience and i only ate one cat! That's so not fair, its discrimination!"

Xander was definitely getting better at keeping a straight face. "So you're a what (excuse me a moment, my cheek itches, I'm not grinning at all) a champion now?"

"Oh, yeah. I save people and stuff. I've even got my own crew and an office and everything." Harmony beamed proudly, "So, you're a zombie yeah, how'd that happen?"

Xander scuffled his foot self consciously. "I died."

"Yeah, tell me about it. Sucks eh?"

"Yep." he agreed wholeheartedly.

"So, wanna come hang out with me?"

Xander considered it. As ideas went, he couldn't think of anything worse.

"Alright, why not?"


	3. Life, the universe

Life and death. Most people think of them as quite distinct, immiscible states, the former being as a brief but interesting interlude en route to the latter. Of course, boundaries always tend to get blurred when magic is involved.

Xander had spent his entire life living on that boundary. A lifetime growing up in Sunnydale, going to school directly above the worlds largest hellmouth had merely been been a dim echo of things to come. As a small child he'd always ignored the insistent voice in the back of his mind that had screamed at him to run. By the time he heeded it it was about two lifetimes too late. Once he'd met Buffy, he'd been hurtled non stop through a magical maelstrom like a duck in a whirlpool - with approximately the same element of self control.

He'd started to suffer from random moments of undirected terror during rare, seemingly calm moments in his life. Most mornings he woke up screaming in terror at things that hadn't happened yet.

This is because magic is not necessarily linear. Magic obeys its own rules; like a French motorist, and those rules can seem completely arbitrary to the outside observer. Effect might just follow cause, but there is no guarantee that it would even be the right effect. It might just as likely be an effect from a spell cast next Tuesday – or last Tuesday, or from a random magical squall half way round the world rippling across the world.

Of course, for most of us this is completely invisible and undetectable. Magic washes over us with no more ill effect than background radiation. If you were able to see it somehow, with theoretical mystical thermal goggles, it would be like finding another world all around us.

Scientists know about it. They _know_ that the universe should be much, much lighter than it is. Newton called it the universal constant, then felt slightly silly about it. Now scientists call it dark matter, and feel less silly for some reason.

The universe has mass - far more than it should.

_It's found here_.

Magic drifts across the world everywhere, thick as soup. Sometimes it is swept by invisible currents, sometimes it hangs in the air - becalmed and dancing like motes of dust in the sunlight. Sometimes it forms great clouds, glistening crystalline nebula like formations that have driven people mad with the beguiling beauty and purposeless order.

And things... live in this. Not just vampires and demons - parasites that uncomfortably straddle the fence, existing only though leeched magic and the dregs of our reality, surviving on the borders of both worlds.

Other things. Creatures of pure magic, intangible to us as we are to them, drifting majestically through the the universe, vast timeless herbivores feeding on raw magic like humpback whales feeding on plankton. Of course, there are predators too, smaller, more agile – they hunt in packs, pulling down their larger prey when they stray away from the herd and the light.

They wonder at the dim shadow cast by our world, and uncomprehending, call it magic...

Then there are the wizards, the warlocks and witches. Dipping into and shaping the intangible currents around them, compacting them into almost a solid thing, then throwing out magic like great fireworks, mostly ignorant or uncaring as the effects ripple out like stones in a pond, rippling out through reality like a flame through a sheet of paper.

Most people walk through this oblivious, unaffected and blithely unaware. At most they pick up a trace of magic, a thin layer of dust as magic settles momentarily, then is shifted and caught back in the stream. But... if someone is saturated with an unusually large amount of magic – things become a little different.

It begin to congeal - the coating becomes a film; the film becomes a layer; the layer becomes a shell.

Unknowingly they begin to affect the invisible world that coexists around them. Usually it manifests as just little things that the individual can even pass of as just luck or 'fate'. Maybe you know someone who always seems to get lucky with dice, maybe you seem to run into long lost relatives more often than seems plausible. For the most part, such individuals are relatively harmless.

But occasionally, just occasionally, some unfortunate individual is subjected to repeated 'doses' of magic. If by some extraordinary chance they survive, they start to take on... mystical weight. They start to find themselves drawn towards magical beings and occurrences, and conversely magic begins to gravitate towards them. A whirlpool of energy envelops them, sucking more and more magic in until it reaches a critical point -

Xanders unofficially status as 'demon magnet' was more true than he knew, and after a time even slight background magic started unaided to coalesce faster and faster around his oyster like essence.

Unfortunately, there are things in this world (or at least in neighboring dimensions close enough to stick their heads through the window) to whom that became a beacon. Some were drawn with no more thought than a moth to light, and with no more regard for the consequences, others regarded an oyster as nothing more than a pleasant snack. There was a third kind however – possibly even more dangerous than the first two. The kind that considered a pearl as a rare and precious treasure, to be protected and possessed and controlled. And if by some cruel quirk of fate they could not posses it, then they would see it destroyed utterly.


	4. Home

"Hi guys, I'd like you to all give a big, friendly welcome to... Xander!"

Hostile silence greeted Xander and Harmony. Somewhere in the tepid darkness, something went _plop_.

Several dozen baleful sets of eyes peered out of the gloom. Somebody snarled menacingly.

"Now, guys..." Harmony began reproachfully.

Evidently responding to Harmonys encouraging noises and gestures, something emerged form the shadows.

It was tall - inhumanly so, but at less than half the usual width, like you had taken a human and a giant rolling pin. It had grey, mottled skin and most of the eyes in the room, most of which were different colours and orbited its skull like a swarm of bees. Also, it was partially wrapped in a black cape with red lining, which it twirled dramatically as it gyrated energetically across the room, meeting Xander after several bounces although maybe just by accident.

"Xander." Xander tried not to stare in astonishment. "_What_ are you?"

The creature drew up its cape conspiratorially and bowed jerkily, utilising joints and muscles that clearly weren't quite human. "I am Sapox. I am... a vampire!"

"Really."

Harmony leaned in and whispered, "He's a Szlisger demon, but he was bitten by a very short sighted vampire and now he thinks he's a vamp too."

Xander beamed helplessly up at the thing that could have almost doubled as a lamppost. "Ok, good for you..." He dutifully shook a hand that looked to be made of matchsticks.

Harmony sat down primly on a frilly pink cushion. She watched expectantly.

This is because, to Xanders continued astonishment, contrary to all expectations, he was in a living room. Admittedly, the sofas were old and tattered looking, the TV probably didn't multi task as a toaster, there was slime dripping down the walls and there was a cistern in the middle of the room that gurgled immutably to itself occasionally. You could almost forget all that, if it wasn't for the smell.

It had presence. It had body. It laughed at the futility of air fresheners, showers and other pathetic, contemptible measures. It was a smell that seemed to seep into your skin. It was a smell that stamped its presence through your skin, through muscle and fat and sinew and bones, to imprint itself on your very soul. It was a smell you would never forget, try as you might.

It was the smell of the sewers.

Down amongst the identical maze of slime encrusted corridors, far from the sun and the lights, down amongst the rats and the mud, Harmony had created her own little idyllic vision of home.

There were the sofas. Pink featured prominently. Lacey pillows added to the pinkness. There was the carpet, which looked like it had been dragged in from somewhere - possibly a tip. Perhaps it was at one time beige, but exposure to the elements, age and sewer damage had reduced it to a putrid greenish gray. There were cheerful pictures of flowers and kittens on the walls, drooping in the moisture. There was a tea pot. It was clothed modestly in pink lace.

Xander marveled at the sheer empty headed determination which had created such an illusion. If Harmony managed to point all six brain cells in the same direction at once, with her mind she could rule the world.

Another shape made its appearance from the shadows. Several more, very similar shapes followed it.

Whatever they were was mostly obscured by the heavy cloaks and cowls they wore. They were short and blocky. They had disproportionately large heads. Eyes gleamed from the shadows of their cowls.

Demon midgets. He thought. Another tiny voice that the years and the brutal realities of life had almost crushed, screamed gleefully – Jawas!

The three creatures scuttled forwards fearfully. One of them cautiously approached, while its companions chattered excitedly to each other.

"Er. Hi." he said weakly.

The midget squeaked at him incoherently. The cowl fell back a little to reveal a lumpen, hairless scalp and an over sized mouth crammed with teeth.

"He says 'May your stomach be full of many fat worms.'" Harmony translated. She caught Xanders expression, "Thats his way of saying hello." she explained. "This is Falax."

Xander extended his hand., The creature scuttled back out of reach. Xander lowered his hand and it moved forwards again.

"Nice to meet you." Xander said, "And your friends are?"

The thing squeaked emphatically at length.

"No, you don't get it. They are Falax. All of them." Harmony said.

"Ok then."

Xander himself leaped back, sending the jawas scurrying in alarm. Xander swore furiously. "What the hell?" he pointed a shaky finger.

He knew the huge, lumbering form that had emerged from the darkness. It still haunted the corners of his mind and slipped into his dreams at night. It had plenty of equally, or even more unpleasant company, but right now it was clearly here and they were not.

"Harmony, that's a troll!" he accused.

Harmony smiled at him as if he was an idiot. "Well dur! This is Bill."

"It's a troll!" Xander wailed, trying to keep his distance. It was a small room, and the troll effortlessly occupied most of it.

The monster extended a hand bigger than Xanders chest.

"Honoured to meet you good sir." it proclaimed laboriously. The troll spoke slowly and carefully, possibly because of its fangs. Even through his terrified daze, Xander realised something was off here.

"Um, please don't eat me!" he squeaked.

"Xander," Harmony looked mortified. "You know trolls only eat babies!"

"Actually, I'm a vegan." Bill rumbled.

Xander swallowed hard. He'd been chased through too many dreams by Anyas ex to shake his fear quite that quickly. Still, there seemed no obvious avenue for escape, so he had little option but to play along.

As he calmed marginally, Xander took in a few details that had escaped him. The troll was wearing a suit. Admittedly, it was shabby and worn, and in a few places torn, but it was difficult to fear anyone wearing a tweed suit. A pair of slightly twisted spectacles perched on its nose. It had also quite failed to tear him limb form limb, although it had ample opportunity.

Not really daring to think about the consequence, Xander took the trolls hand.

He found a cautiously gentle grip, as if the troll was being careful not to accidentally tear his arm off and eat it. To his astonishment, Xander found his hand returned to him intact.

There was a muffled sound of a door opening and the sound of soft feet hastily approaching.

A small figure scuttled self consciously into the light. It could have been human. If a human could mate with a porcupine. Currently his quills were laid back in a non threatening way. Its entire demeanor was non threatening for that matter, slouched over, his eyes downcast. It cringed slightly, as if fearing the universe was about to hit him with something nasty.

Xander could emphasize.

"Hello, I'm Xander." he said encouragingly.

For a brief instant, the creature furtively met his eye with its own amber ones. "Hi." Its eyes darted around the room. "I'm Spike."

"Really? I used to know a Spike." he considered. "He was nothing like you. Nice to meet you."

Spikes eyes sought Harmony's urgently. "We've got trouble."

In an instant, Harmony changed. The petty, vapid girl Xander had known for years seemed to vanish in front on him. What emerged to replace it reminded Xander of why people were afraid of the night.

Her eyes glittered in the dim light. "Hunters?" she said intently.

The nervous little demon nodded affirmatively.

"How long?"

Spike shrugged helplessly, "They were just behind me. I gave them the slip, but for how long..."

Harmony glanced sharply around at the disparate group. Lastly she looked at Xander. "Sorry, but introductions are going to have to wait."

Xander felt thrown off balance by this brusque, business like Harmony, so unlike the girl he had known.. "What -" he began.

"No time. We need to split up. We can meet again in the usual place, assuming we survive."

"Erm, Harm." Xander tried, "What's going on?"

Harmony rounded on him. He'd never though Harmony could look scary, but right at this moment he'd sooner face a horde of bloodthirsty demons – he'd sooner face his relatives at Christmas, than face her.

"Demon hunters. They've been tracking us for months. And I don't think they want to ask us to subscribe to their discount shopping club." Harmony replied tersely.

Wow. Xander felt stunned, Harmony had never mastered irony – she had still been failing to grasp sarcasm last he'd seen her. He wondered suddenly what had caused the demon hunters to pursue this particular group with such fervor. Still, he very much doubted they'd appreciate inquiries from someone who was technically now a member of the undead. Running, or at least lurching as fast as possible, seemed like the best plan at the moment.

"One problem though." he said meaningfully.

The blank look Harmony gave him convinced him that whatever else, this was still Harmony.

"I don't know these sewers. I don't have a clue where to go." Xander clarified.

Harmony hesitated for a moment. Xander guessed the reason. The sun was rising. By herself, she could probably find a safe haven in time. Shepherding Xander through unfamiliar tunnels in pitch darkness, she'd have no chance. "Spike?" she looked at the prickly demon tentatively. Not waiting for a reply, she turned and ran after rest of the rapidly departing group.

The look the demon shot back was less than happy. It turned to look at Xander with clear hostility in its gaze.

"Come on." Spike said simply.

A moment later the demon had disappeared completely into the shadows. Xander hesitated for a moment, uncertainty immobalising him. Then he recognised the futility of the situation.

Why does this sort of thing always happen to me? He wondered idly.

He set off as best he could after the demon.


	5. Escape

Xander ran. He didn't really have any idea where he was running, only that every step took him and his pursuers one step away from Harmony and her gang.

And how the hell did that happen? A few days ago he'd have considered them the enemy. Now, he was risking his life for them. It didn't matter that _technically_ he was a demon himself now. Zombie or not, Xander considered himself a lifelong member of the human race. Of course, it took his own unique brand of logic to justify that one, but...

Now he raced blindly through the sewers, intent on saving a bunch of misfit demons.

He'd turn round and explain that it was all a mistake, if only he though it would make the slightest difference.

He splashed to an intersection, skidding and almost falling on the slimy brickwork. He could still hear the echo of marching feet, all around him. Totally disoriented in the dark, Xander chose a random direction. For all he knew he was heading straight towards them, but with few options, he chose to rely on the luck that had nurtured him and kept him alive – sort of, for the past decade.

Of course, having a certain slayer and witch around to save his pathetic life likely swayed the odds a little. By himself, Xander was painfully aware that his demon fighting abilities just about qualified him to scream and die in abject agony.

Actually, for that he was probably overqualified.

He heard, or maybe imagined voices up ahead. Blindly he skidded to a halt. He heard the thud of approaching feet, echoing through the tunnels. Indecision gripped him as he realised he couldn't tell if they were approaching from ahead or behind. Even as he stood, locked in indecision and panic, the sounds grew closer.

Desperately, his body made the decision for him. An instant before the demons rounded the corner it threw him into an shadowy alcove, flattened against the slime encrusted wall.

Not daring to breath, Xander watched as the demons filed past him. He felt the stone bite into his hands as he gripped it convulsively.

For the first time, he got a good look at the demons who chased him, who had taken exception to Harmony and her brigade of misfits. They were tall and thin. They were covered from head to foot by bulky metallic gray, Xander couldn't tell whether they wore armour or it was a natural exoskeleton. They wore long leathery cloaks sewn from skin - what of he didn't like to contemplate. Antlers protruded from their long narrow heads, high enough they had to duck to make their way through the sewer tunnels.

They looked to him a lot like the knights who say Ni.

He'd maybe have felt surprised that the demon hunters were themselves demons. Then again, humans had hunted and killed one another enthusiastically since before history had begun. In that respect it seemed, demons were more like us than not.

The last of the half dozen demons had almost passed his hiding place and Xander almost dared breath again.

It paused.

It raised its head. He could hear indistinct snuffling sounds. The demon turned its head from side to side, hissing sibilantly to itself.

Every muscle in Xanders body seemed to cramp tensely. He felt an overpowering urge to move, to shout – to do something other than helplessly crouch in his mediocre hiding place, so close to the demon he could almost reach out and touch it.

Behind its leering mask, the demon managed to convey uncertainty as it continued to take deep breaths of the fetid air. Xander guessed that was the reason. Even for a creature that hunted primarily by smell, as it seemed this demon did, trying to separate the smell of a terrified zombie from the usual aroma of the sewers must have been a little like trying to find a – well, like trying to find something very small among lots of other very similar things.

Just as Xander was certain he couldn't stay still any longer, there was a noise. It seemed barely audible over the thumping of his heart, but the demons head came up instantly. It hissing grew excitedly, and it moved hungrily in the direction of the sound.

After a moment, amber eyes appeared in the gloom. They focused on him as easily as if it was broad daylight.

"Hey you." their owner murmured quietly.

With a rush of relief, he recognised the voice. "Spike!" he whispered loudly. He realised that the little demon must have circled back after Xander had become lost in the maze like sewers and that he must have been responsible for the distraction that had lured away the demonic knight before it had discovered him.

The demon sidled forwards, coming into view. He glanced around furtively and raised a warning finger to his lips.

Xander nodded his understanding. "Thanks." he whispered.

The look the demon gave him was cold. "Keep up this time." he ordered. "I won't come back for you again."

Inspite of his threat, the pace that Spike set was far less frantic now. With an unknown number of demons both ahead of them as well as behind, the need for haste gave way for the need for stealth.

Hours passed like decades as they crawled their way through the sewers. The demons knew they were there, and repeatedly they circled back or joined as a group to comb large sections of the sewers. To Xander, it seemed that there was a demon round every corner, over and over he was certain that this time they would be caught. But each time Spike led him undetected, sometimes slipping away alone to draw the hunters away. More times than Xander could count they escaped through the tightening net again and again.

Unbeknown to Xander, they were almost to safety when disaster struck. Three of the demons, dimly aware of the chase they were being led on, simply stopped in a large intersection filled mostly by a deep stagnant pool of rain water. There was no warning for either of them as the creatures rose up out of the colourless water like something from the deep. Xander felt hands grasp him. He twisted away, slippery with slime. Something crashed into the side of his head and he fell.

He forced himself to his knees, feeling sickening waves of pain wash through his head causing his vision to quiver. He looked up.

The three demons were moving warily towards Spike. The diminutive demon was crouched low, so low that his head almost touched the ground. Long, sharp needles stood quivering on end the length of his body, making him appear twice the size. His tail, which Xander hadn't even noticed until that moment was raised threateningly above his head, bristling. The quills that were embedded in one of the demons armour - which leaked a thick black fluid, went a long way to explaining his attackers wariness.

Spikes eyes moved desperately as his three attackers circled him.

Xander hauled himself to his feet, taking in the scene. He took a tottering step towards the demons.

Then he stopped.

He felt his vision pulled inexorably towards the clear passageway. Salvation - freedom beckoned.

He hesitated. In confusion, one foot tried to move to help, while the other tried to flee. He stumbled and fell, a cry of pain startled out of him as sharp stone bit into his knees.

The demons started to turn, in that moment, Spike leapt.

Its difficult to fight someone who is for all intents and purposes a giant ball of needles. The demons made some effort to hit him, but as that invariably involved injuring themselves, they mostly concentrated on protecting their faces from the frenzied onslaught.

For an impossible moment, it looked almost as if he might win.

Then one of the demons grabbed hold of him, ignoring the spines which pierced its arms. It got a face full of quills for its efforts, but it hurled the porcupine like demon away.

Spike hit the wall with a crunch as spines bent and snapped. He fell to the ground unmoving.

The demon that had thrown him took an unbalanced step, reached up to touch its bristling face, made a keening sound half between a whine and a hiss, then collapsed. One of the remaining two moved in to finish the stunned demon, while the last moved purposefully towards Xander.  
Xander backed up hopelessly. He knew that his chances of outrunning the demons now were about on a par with his chances of outfighting them. He wondered idly what it would take to kill him, if he would actually die at all, or if he'd stay alive and conscious as they tore him into bloody chunks.

Lacking a better plan, Xander lashed out.

He'd punched before. Usually when he'd been at school, it had warranted an amused look, and on one occasion had resulted in his head being forcefully inserted into the vending machine. Occasionally in recent years, he'd actually gotten off a semi-respectable blow.

He'd never taken anyones head off before.

He stared at his fists as if he'd never seen them before. He looked down at the crumpled demon, oily fluid geysering fitfully from the ragged hole that had been its neck.

He looked up at the last demon, a dreadful smile on his face. He stepped forwards menacingly and the demon shrunk back.

"Heads up." he grinned.

The demon turned and fled.

Spike had managed to get back to his feet when Xander reached him. He clung to the wall, supporting himself with one hand. One side of his face was covered with blood and his eyes were unfocused, but he regarded Xander urbanely.

"Thanks." he said casually.

_Maybe being a zombie isn't all bad, after all._ Xander thought.

Xander helped to support the injured demon as the two of them fled.


	6. Low Down

Two weeks.

Two weeks since he'd seen the sunlight. Two weeks since he'd felt the wind or the rain. Two weeks since he'd felt anything other than the insipid unremitting darkness. Two weeks since Spike and he had so narrowly escaped the demon soldiers.

He'd learned in that time they were a militant faction of a species called Reitgar demons.

They were dedicated to hunting down those they deemed 'traitors to demonkind'. They were lead be a demon who was considered fanatical even by members of his own species. By his followers he was idolized to the point of deification. Phrases such as 'racial purity', 'for the greater good' and 'scapegoat' seemed to easily brainwash demons. Then again, they _were_ monsters.

The demons name was Jantax. He was rumored to be part human by his detractors as a way to explain his unprecedented ruthlessness and brutality. In a short few years he had united his race as hadn't happened in the past thousand. All this was according to Jalax, the Jawa demon things which confusing shared the same mind. Apparently they – he – it, whatever, were an expert on this particular species of demon. Evidently they had a rich and interesting culture if you could get past their insatiable desire to tear your heart out as soon as they saw you.

Centuries ago their race had set out to become the tourist world of the multiverse, but after the first few tentative visitors had been immediately eviscerated, the budding tourist industry had been declared stillborn. They persisted for decades, but their dimension had never really become a major tourist destination, much to their chagrin. Typically, they'd concluded that it was the rest of the universes that was at fault, and so they had set out to exterminate a fair chunk of it.

It was a testament to Xanders miserable boredom that he'd remembered these facts.

For two weeks he and the remnants of Harmonys gang had squatted in squalor, hiding in an abandoned forgotten mine shaft some ten miles out of town.

Two weeks in which the demons had hunted them unrelentingly.

Two weeks since Harmony had failed to meet them.

Xanders quite reasonable explanation that she had seized the opportunity and distraction to run as fast and as far as possible had been met with almost physical violence.

After all, he'd reasoned - she was a vampire. It was easy to forget under that bubbly cheerful exterior, inside there was a ruthless unapologetically selfish demon that wouldn't hesitate to abandon them all to save her own pretty skin. Xander really couldn't blame her.

He'd been amazed by the reaction this had inspired. Anger and recriminations he could understand, only they weren't aimed at Harmony. There was never a question in the minds of the rag tag band of demons as to what had happened, never even a moments doubt that she would forsake them.

Down here in the miserable, foetid dark, with a bunch of misfit demons that would be rejected by a freak show as too bizarre, Xander sensed rather than heard the word that no-one spoke, as clear as too long absent day.

Family.

It was a word that had once been a rude word to Xander. Family meant a mother who hovered fearfully cringing in the kitchen, a father whose drunken presence inspired only fear and loathing, and an barely recognised older brother whose visits were fleeting and filled with broiling unspoken resentment. Family was a word that he'd learned to hate.

It was a word that he'd come to redefine eventually. By then it wasn't about blood, it was about something more important. It was about caring about people more than you cared about yourself. It was about a mutual willingness to shed blood to spare friends pain. He though of his family. His _real_ family, now scattered around the globe or dead - the only consistency he'd known in life gone. Buffy, Giles, Willow. Anya. Down in the dark, even the memory seemed to be fading.

Without them he felt like life had been reduced to nothing more than mechanical actions - walk, talk, eat, sleep, drink. Just so long as he didn't have to stop and think.

The illusion of life, but not the real thing. Because with that he would run the risk of feeling.

He reached up to scratch his head and felt flakes of dead skin drift away. Down here in the dark, alone with his insecurities and fears, he knew why death hadn't taken him. It didn't need to. He'd died long ago, he just hadn't realised until now.

A scraping noise scattered his bleak thoughts. He looked up.

He realised after a moment that the darkness hadn't been as complete as he'd believed. Someone had bought in a lantern and placed it on the rickety table. Its flickering half-light cast shadows on the sandstone walls and on the sparse furnishings that they had scavenged together to make their imprisonment marginally more bearable.

Family. He recognised it here – twisted and warped as it was. And he recognised all too well the sense of pain and loss.

Two weeks. Two weeks in which Xander had nothing to do but think. Nothing to do but drag himself down further and further into black despair, until something - anything seemed preferable.

Two weeks was too long to bear.

He slipped away unheeded. The demons had been cautiously welcoming for the most part. Saphox the worlds strangest wannabe vampire had been almost embarrassingly friendly, with an innocent enthusiasm that was embarrassing to behold. The Jawas had been consistently indecipherable. The troll had been welcoming although uncertain, sensing Xanders reluctance. Spike had stayed coldly distant. He kept his distance from them all Xander noticed, but in this case it seemed to be out of dislike rather than a natural need for solitude. Maybe if Xander had cared he would have wondered why. Several other demons had joined them in the questionable refuge, mostly shy and reclusive, Xander had mostly caught only glimpses of them during his stay.

Xander slipped away. No one had really paid him any heed it the past days, each of them preoccupied with their own problems, and the few loyalists with their desperate attempt to discover the location of their missing Harmony. He'd learned his surroundings well enough he had no problems in the dark until he judged he was far enough away that it was safe. Cautiously, he twisted the end of the torch he carried.

The light was dim, the battery failing. It almost blinded him though, and it was probably a good thing that his heart wasn't beating as at it would probably have stopped.

Grinning in the weak light a hand span ahead before his stood one of the demons that pursued them.

Xander gulped, getting control of himself after a long moment in which the demon stood and basked in his terror.

Xander took a deep, shuddering and completely unnecessary breath. He stepped forwards to meet the demon that was waiting for him. He ignored his disgust at the demon, and the greater disgust that aimed inwards at himself. He cringed, still having enough self respect to hate the line he was about to deliver.

He took another shaky delaying breath.

"Take me to your leader."


	7. Torture

Maw'Grinslaa'vek was becoming slightly annoyed. Actually that wasn't quite true. Maw'Grinslaa'vek (Gary to his friends, although he made a point of killing his friends before they could become enemies), was few beyond annoyed. Annoyed had passed so quickly it had been little more that a brief tingling sensation. He'd sped past irritated, shot past angry, stopped briefly at incensed and carried on straight through furious. He dwelt now in some higher plane of pure calm rage, floating peacefully on the simmering currents of warm fury that tethered precariously close to madness.

He glanced at his captive and giggled. Several of the other demons glanced at him warily.

Maw'Grinslaa'vek had been leader of his clan for over two hundred years, since he had taken the position from his own father, shortly after he had torn off his head and eaten his entrails. He had razed whole worlds to the ground. He had led armies, and butchered armies. He had mutilated, tortured and murdered countless thousands just to hear them scream. He was feared and respected in more dimensions than he could count. Demon children that were good were warned that Maw'Grinslaa'vek would come and tear out their hearts while they slept. And he'd just giggled.

Demons weren't supposed to giggle. Insane evil laughter was fine. Low, menacing chuckles were fine. Malicious guffaws were perfectly acceptable. But when the head of the tribe starts to giggle in a high pitched way, its a sure sign that they will soon need to begin searching for a new leader, and the previous leader will need to be able to survive without his _head_. But now, they were all on edge.

Maw'Grinslaa'vek cleared his throat self consciously. He tried to glare at his captive. He'd never had this trouble before. She was chained to the wall, exactly as it should be. Her clothing was torn and she was bruised and battered, all perfectly fine so far.

But she just wouldn't stop _talking_.

"And another thing, you guys really should think about tidying up round here. I mean, I know -its all boys together, its just your lair until you find somewhere better, but would anyone really think you were less a man if you picked up a feather duster once in a -"

He tried to block the voice out of his head without much success.

Ten days now. Ten long, agonizing days. They'd tried hitting her, and she just complained even louder. They'd tried torturing her. She screamed and cried, and somehow from her that was even more annoying. And as soon as they stopped she went straight back to talking as if nothing had happened. He'd even tried raping her, and now she kept on talking about 'their relationship'.

Eventually, they'd begged her, pleaded with her to stop.

"You know what would really work in here? With this lighting I really think you could do wonders with the place with just a little -"

"_Be silent!_" Maw'Grinsla'vek roared. "God woman don't you ever close your mouth?! Don't you sleep?!"

For an infinitely small fraction of a second there was a pause in the tirade. "Well, just because you're in such a -"

"SHUT UP! Or I'll tear your miserable tongue out!" Ma'Grinslaa'vek grabbed Harmony by the throat furiously. But vampires don't choke, and somehow she seemed to be able to talk without air.

"Hey buster, don't you be that like that with me. You know, I had another boyfriend who was just like you. Always yelling and storming around the place and threatening to kill everyone. Always telling me off, _Harmony, stop doing that! Harmony, stop talking! Harmony, stop tattooing your name onto my skin! _Any you know what I learned. It wasn't about me. So don't you take your frustrations out on me just because you've got a tiny -"

Maw'Grinslaa'vek whirled away, his head clamped between his hands as he tried to tear his own head off.

"I can't take it any more!" he screamed. "Day after day, night after night!" he giggled again. Drool dribbled down his chin. "No more! I don't care about the plan any more! I don't care what _he_ does to me if I fail. Nothing can be worse than this!"

"But hey, at least he didn't have to chain me up to get me. Although," she smiled wistfully, "He was into that too sometimes. And he smelled better than you, do you even know what a bath is, because I've got to say Eau D'Rotting Skunk, not such a turn on for a girl."

He tore at a supporting beam. Part of the ceiling collapsed, but he ignored it and brandished the rotten piece of wood.

"I'm going to shut you up once and for all, you pestilent, nagging harpy!"

"Ok, now just hold on!" Harmony stammered. The demon was far too enraged to catch the calculating look that appeared in her eyes for a moment before being consumed by her usual vapid expression. "I've got to say, I love a man with a big... stick." She arched languidly, which is a difficult achievement when you're chained to the wall. "But are you sure _that's _what you want to stake me with?"

Maw'Grinslaa'vek looked uncertain for a moment. He glanced between the vampire and the impromptu stake. "Er."

Harmony smiled archly.

"Well... Erm. Yes!"

Maw'Grinslaa'vek stepped forwards, brandishing the stake. Harmony tried to shrink into the wall.

"Sir!" A voice. Deep, guttural. He paused.

"What?"

He turned to look at one of his soldiers. It was impossible to make out features behind the masks they all wore, but he didn't need to. Small antlers, asymmetrical, the left one bifurcated at the base then the two branches wrapping round one another higher up. Kindaar. The youngest member of the tribe here, only here at all because he was Maw'Grinslaa'veks brother. Mocked by the others for still missing his mothers, he was not old enough even to have any apostrophes in his name.

"What is it?" he said.

"Sir! Reporting to have captured one prisoner sir." Kindaar coughed slightly at the effort of making his voice so deep and guttural. Behind his mask Maw'Grinslaa'vek grinned.

"Well?" he prompted.

The young demon fidgeted uncomfortably. "Well, when I say captured... He sort of forced me to bring him here."

Maw'Grinslaa'vek snarled angrily, but privately he felt much more cheerful. It was the perfect distraction. Tearing the moronic intruder to pieces sounded like the perfect distraction. Of course he would have to torture Kindaar to death for his incompetence, though. That was an added bonus, and among the rest of his soldiers would completely make up for the earlier giggling.

"Come out and face me." he growled.

A figure formed in the gloom. It stepped forwards out of the shadows.

The young humans skin was grey, tinged with green. He held a crossbow which he carefully sighed down with his single eye.

Maw'Grinslaa'vek grinned. "You have only one shot. There are many of us. Surrender, and your death will be painless." he lied.

"I only need one shot." the man replied distractedly.

Maw'Grinslaa'vek growled. "You believe I am afraid of death? Then you know nothing of us. Shoot me then, you shall never rescue your female."

The man shrugged casually, turning the bow slightly. "Who said anything about a rescue? Sorry Harmony."

He fired. The bolt sped straight towards Harmony's heart.


End file.
